Alex Ferguson Is Watching David Moyes Lose His Virginity in Public

Image by Sam Taylor

We’ve been waiting a long time for the moment to drop at Manchester United, when blind faith and history finally give way to stark reality. If it’s been a possibility for a while now that a genuinely poisonous atmosphere could develop at Old Trafford, then the defeat to Spurs made it inevitable. Last night, in United’s first ever home defeat to Swansea City, we finally saw the turning point.

United fans have been fed the notion for too long that the heroic comebacks, the against-all-odds, backs-to-the-wall, history-defying escapades were part and parcel of the club, rather than the natural result of having a managerial genius managing a large wage bill. That the club would find a way to succeed seemed as natural as an Arsenal or Liverpool implosion. The more rational arguments against it seemed like people who say there’s no scientific evidence that heavy cannabis use causes mental illness – yes, perhaps, but on the other hand, come on. It’s obviously true, isn’t it? We’ve seen. Ask anyone.

Yesterday’s shock to the system would have been more stark if not for the fact that many of the fans in attendance seemed too shocked to boo. United fans have been in an odd position – even those prepared to criticise Ferguson (and there have been many) have never had to seriously consider the 'Is it time to bin the manager? How do I feel about this guy?' dilemma that features in at least some way for normal football fans after every setback. Now, they do, and fans who have grown up knowing nothing but the Ferguson era are in effect slumming it, on some footballing equivalent of downward class tourism.

Instead of looking ahead at narrow leads by Manchester City and Chelsea, fans have started to glance nervously behind and wonder when Newcastle will make up that one-point gap. Almost every trace of certainty around the club has disappeared, almost entirely for the worse. The roots of the problem are many, and it can be traced back for a long time, through Ronaldo’s sale, Rooney’s injuries, all the way back to a mid-noughties vat of horse semen and before. But despite all that, one man is held responsible for it: David Moyes.

The small amounts of criticism that haven’t gone the way of, as the banner on the Stretford End very literally states, “The Chosen One”, have been directed at Alex Ferguson and the board. The problem is that the criticism has tended to centre around the objection: “You appointed David Moyes.”

Robin van Persie gets injured, but rather than a dose of bad luck, an out-of-work Dutch fitness coach takes to Twitter to blame David Moyes. Shinji Kagawa is no longer even trying to play football. A thousand tactics bloggers blame David Moyes for not playing him in a slightly different position. Michael Carrick has reverted to meek, cowardly, timid, ten-men-in-divers'-boots-wading-through-treacle type. David Moyes. Ashley Young and Adnan Januzaj’s diving, David Moyes. Rafael’s haircut, David Moyes. Phil Jones’ face, David Moyes.

At the moment, the man can simply do no right. It was Ferguson, after all, who left him with the squad that looks completely incapable of achieving anything approaching competence without their Dutch one-man band. It was Ed Woodward who spent the summer transfer window running up and down blind alleys, and it was the owners who were in control of the purse strings when Arturo Vidal and Mateo Kovacic were considered poor value for money but £16m for an out-of-contract Ashley Young was deemed a shrewd purchase. Somehow, this all gets forgotten, and despite the love-in that followed Ferguson’s departure, he may find his stock rising yet further still in his absence.

It must be strange for Ferguson peering in, witnessing his protégé suffering the indignity of repeated blunders, like a particularly unnerving episode of Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents. The difference there is that David Moyes is well aware of his mentor’s attentions, and having your first drunken shag is probably made a lot more awkward by the knowledge that you’re being watched by Dad.

On the other hand, in this case it might be correct to blame the parents. Not only must the point be made that, well, if David Moyes is the problem, who appointed him, but it’s worth taking a look at what the new man inherited. The Champions of England, yes, but a team that was widely perceived to have won by coasting past a herd of riderless horses, a poor team themselves that was carried on the shoulders of Robin van Persie. Both of those assets have now disappeared, with all of United’s rivals improving and van Persie reverting to his normal status as a crock.

Moyes is in a peculiar position at the moment: he was extraordinarily lucky that the club decided to continue with the Ferguson model and hand dictatorial powers to a completely untested man, rather than appointing a director of football. He was also fortunate to get the job in the first place having been good but not great at Everton. The PR and philosophy of the club, combined with the backing of his predecessor, also made it near-certain that he would get ample time in the role. But there is another sinister consideration floating around at the peripheries.

In short, nobody knows much about United’s owners, the Glazers. Nobody knows how trigger-happy they might be with their coaches in a sport they know little about. The criticism that is directed away from Moyes might turn out to be a double-edged sword, a reason for the club to make a sacrificial lamb of the god-fearing Scot. A sacking would easily allow all failures to be blamed on him, with plenty of the fanbase prepared to accept it as an excuse.

At present, Moyes is enduring the perfect storm. The situation could not have been engineered to leave a bigger gulf between the quality of the squad and the height of expectations. The teams doing well in United’s absence are old, eternal rivals – Manchester City are playing the best football in the league, Arsenal have shown mental resilience and Liverpool are doing well. Even Everton are getting on better without him, with their fans turning heel and rewarding his loyalty with boos and casting him as 2014’s Gary Megson, thus leaving English football in the shameful state of having to consider Newcastle United fans probably the most sane and rational in the league.

Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom to bounce back up. But sometimes you don’t realise how far away the bottom is, and sometimes you don’t bounce back up at all but just crumble in a heap on the concrete. United’s squad is looking more of a mess every day, and while little of the real reasons are Moyes’ fault, fate is conspiring against him. Outside of Masonic Lodges, being a dour Scottish Protestant does not ordinarily rank highly on a man’s CV, but Moyes is paying a price for his pact with Moloch. The man was appointed as the new Ferguson, but being appointed as the continuity candidate does not hold much prestige if the continuity is a downward spiral.

Follow Callum @Callum_TH and Sam @sptsam on Twitter.

Previously – I Went to Ryan Giggs and Gary Neville's Football Restaurant